It Was Just a Joke

On Read-Aloud Day, two kids from every fifth-grade homeroom read in the auditorium, picked by drawing names. For 5B it was Greta and Malte. Greta read the way she does math, fast and without mistakes. Malte stood at the podium, and the paper rattled in his hands. In the second paragraph there was a long word, “unbelievably.” “Un... unbe... unbelieve...” Somebody giggled. Malte started the sentence over, slipped down a line, read one line twice. His ears turned red. Then he read the rest way too fast and sat down without looking up.

At recess, Daria was standing by the bike racks with Mia and two other girls from her new homeroom. She had been in 5B for three weeks. She had already talked to everybody, but with these three, she wanted them to like her. Tobias from 5C came over, held his pencil case in front of him like a sheet of paper, and made his voice shake: “Un... un... unbelieve-ablably!” Mia laughed, the others laughed. And Daria laughed, loud, the way she always laughs. The laugh was faster than she was.

Six feet away, Christian was standing by the wall with Ben. He saw Malte sitting on the steps to the gym, alone, unwrapping his sandwich and wrapping it back up. Christian thought: somebody should say something. He kept thinking it until the bell rang. Tobias called out to the group, “It was just a joke,” and everybody went inside.

That afternoon Daria was in the garden shed cutting cucumber for the evening feeding. Christian came through the hedge and didn’t say anything, which wasn’t unusual. But he didn’t say hi, either. “What?” Daria asked. “You laughed.” Daria felt the heat rising in her. “Everybody laughed.” “You laughed the loudest.” “And you?” Her voice got louder. “You stood right there and didn’t say anything. That’s not better!” Christian looked at his shoes. “I know.”

Then it was quiet. They both watched the guinea pigs, who were eating cucumber like nothing had happened. Daria thought about Malte’s ears. She thought about what it’s like to stand in front of the class when you have stage fright and everybody thinks you don’t. She imagined herself up there, with her way-too-fast handwriting, getting stuck on a word, and someone she liked laughing. She put the knife down.

“I laughed because everybody else was laughing,” she said. “I like Mia. I wanted her to like me back.” It sounded even worse out loud than it had felt. Christian sat down next to her on the step. “I thought somebody should say something,” he said. “And then I thought about it so long the bell rang. Like back with the contract.” Daria knew exactly which contract he meant. Back then he had seen the fine print and said nothing, and he had never forgotten it.

“I’m going to apologize to him,” Daria said. “Tomorrow. First recess.” That was Daria: when she knew something was wrong, she wanted to fix it right away. “And me?” Christian asked. “I didn’t laugh.” “No,” Daria said. “You stayed quiet.” The words hung there between them. Christian nodded slowly. “Next time I’ll say something.” “What if there isn’t a next time?” “There will be,” Christian said. “Tobias does this to somebody every day.”

The next morning Daria waited by the gym steps. Malte came, saw her, and tried to walk past. “Malte. About yesterday. I laughed. That was a crummy thing to do. I’m sorry.” He looked at her like he was searching for the catch. Then he shrugged. “It’s fine.” It didn’t sound fine. After a moment he said quietly, “That word was really long.” “Way too long,” Daria said. “I couldn’t have done it either.” That wasn’t true, and they both knew it, and Malte almost smiled. At lunch Mia, who had seen the whole thing, asked, “Since when are you so strict?” She laughed when she said it, but that day she sat at a different table. It hurt Daria more than she let on.

On Friday, Christian was standing outside 5C when Malte walked by on his way to the library. Tobias saw him and was already starting: “Un... un...” Christian had his hands in his pockets, and his heart was pounding so hard he could feel it in his throat. “Knock it off, Tobias,” he said. “It’s not funny.” His voice wasn’t as steady as he wanted it to be. Tobias turned around. “Oh, the Professor speaks.” A few kids laughed. Lukas didn’t. Ben stepped up next to Christian, said nothing, and just stayed there. Tobias shrugged. “It was just a joke.” Then he walked off, and only later did Christian realize that Tobias hadn’t made a second joke.

That evening they sat on the step outside the garden shed. “So?” Daria asked. “He calls me Professor now.” “Is that bad?” “Don’t know yet.” Christian looked at his hands. “My heart was beating so hard, I wanted to count it.” “How fast?” “Too fast to count.” Daria pulled her knees up. “Mia’s not really talking to me.” “Tobias talks to me too much,” Christian said. They sat side by side until Daria’s mom called them in for dinner, and for once neither of them had a plan.